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Stories
Downy She paced around the edge of the Astronomy Tower. Jums būs labi. - Ivy That would offer some closure. There was nothing more to say. Anything else would be useless to say, aside from Jums būs labi. People didn't care about whether or not you were fine. If they did you wouldn't be worrying about how to give them closure. No, they only cared about how it would effect them. Caring was in her nature, even if it wasn't in theirs, so she tore off a piece of parchment and scribbled it down. Jums būs labi. Those being her last words almost seemed laughable; in the end it was just warbling noises that no one listened to, so what was so different about them being 'the last'? Her bronze and navy scarf was now alight, the cold nipping at her. She wondered if when she hit the ground if the last thing you felt was all the pain you caused everyone else, compressed together. She wondered if it would feel like landing on a downy comforter. She wondered if Nicholas Flamel was right. And she hopped off the railing. No Moore Donovan would tell her, would have, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew Jade would take Val, he knew that she would never let them leave. He hadn't had a prayer of raising her and being happy simultaneously, all because of the Wizarding Historical Prevention Society. That was a rash decision, it was wrong, but this had been planned for months. Marriage, immortality, all stupid calls on his part. What else do you do, when you realize it's too late to back out with dignity? When you decide 'no more'? You pick up your child from day care and take it from there, don't you? He didn't bother sorting out anything; with one tilt of the bag, everything would come tumbling, regardless... Sniff Test This was the usual. He would rub his eyes, force himself upright, and throw on his clothes, waking 15 minutes later than the set time - usual. Though it wasn't the usual that instead of looking through his dresser for something decent, he opted out for the sniff test. Maybe it was because it was now 17 minutes after the set time, which wasn't usual either. He'd managed to drag himself through English without breakfast, the entirety of 1er. He must have looked half-way alive, otherwise Mme. Missus Greene would have called on him to answer some question about conjugating verbs he didn't understand, because, honestly, English wasn't made to make sense or be conjugated. Claire and Louis were walking up to him in the hallway, waving, but not calling out his name. Maybe he didn't look halfway alive, after all. He stopped, for their sake, so they could catch up. Claire was the first to speak, "What's with the gettup?" His eyes widened once he looked down. Those weren't the pants with the tear near the crotch, were they? fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. His body tensed for a second, before he remembered they'd been mended. "I'm just modeling the new insomniac's line of clothes, bien sûr."